Te Deum
by Weaver of the Tangled Web
Summary: The final, perfect ending to the tale of the Phantom of the Opera and his beautiful Christine Daaé.


_In the ancient park, solitary and vast,  
Two forms only moments ago just passed._

_Their lips barely move and their eyes are dead,  
And one scarcely heard the words they said._

_In the deserted old park now frozen fast,  
Two specters summoned up their past._

_In the weeds and dead grasses their steps led,  
And only the night heard the words they said._

I met her at the bleak iron gates. She looked delicate and pure in her white gauze dress, and her pale skin glowed as she walked towards me with an elegance she had never before possessed. Her golden curls stood like a halo around her sweet face—a face that was soon to contort into the gentlest, kindest, most loving of smiles.

A hand was extended towards her, and she cruelly forced me to suffer through her hesitation. She still stood outside of the gate, one hand resting on the cold iron, blue eyes darting from the threshold to my hand and back again. But I had waited so long—what was a few more moments, for my lovely angel? Years had passed with her at a distance that not even I could cross; barriers far greater than mere distance had separated us.

As I watched her linger with indecision, it almost occurred to me to become impatient. So long I had sat far removed from her, wandering in this lonesome place and waiting for the time to come for my angel to join me. Time had passed without me, as silent footsteps carried me on well-worn paths. Others seemed thankful to come to this place, thankful for the newfound freedom; those people disappeared quickly, moving past this avenue and on to things that I sensed must have been much preferable.

But I could not leave. I was waiting, waiting for the imminent arrival of the one with whom I was meant to spend my eternity.

The freedom from previous bonds that so many seemed to adore, I despised. People arrived and took to their boats to cross the glittering lake that sat at the end of all walkways. One could not see the other shore; I thought it less of a lake, and more of a moat. It had occurred to me, once, to cross it without her, but I could not bring myself to join with the others. The distance in this crossroads alone was unbearable; how could I stand even more distance between us?

I needed her so much closer than that, closer than ever she could be.

If we two had become one, still she would not have been close enough.

I watched as her hand slowly, tremblingly, rose from the iron and pressed itself into my own. As she stepped through the gateway, the world behind her faded into shadow, and the gate clanged shut on its own.

_I knew you would be waiting for me_, she told me, smiling softly.

Slowly, moving as if in stately procession, we turned and began down the path in front of us. Her arm slipped through mine, and my opposite hand covered hers. We walked for a long time, before she paused, and turned her head up to look at me. So much hung between us, unsaid, unresolved—but the love was enough, for me. I needed nothing more, if I had the love. Would it be the same for her?

_I missed you, mon ange..._

A slow smile curled my lips, and my hand pressed against hers. No reply was necessary; no reply was expected. She knew my feelings, and that they could not be expressed in such simple words.

We turned forwards again and continued on our walk. Eventually, that lake was reached, and we both paused upon its shore to look across it. Far away, one's eyes could just barely make out the other shoreline; the earth appeared rich and golden, lush and beautiful, whereas our own land was snowy and barren, the trees just barely clinging to life.

We stood for a long time, looking across that lake. As our eyes met, we both knew the question that lay unspoken between us. Should we cross?

As we slowly moved down the bank, we both felt each step become more and more hesitant. When our toes nearly touched the water, she turned her head to look back into the snowy forest, and then frowned at me.

_Our son... Is it right, to leave him behind?_

I nodded my head, hand tightening on hers. _He will find his own way, _I assured her.

Still, neither of us moved; we stood upon that bank, looking across that lake. I felt the apprehension in both of us; there was no certainty of what lay in store for us on the other side.

_What will happen? _she asked.

_I do not know._

The golden waters rippled, as if inviting us in. We considered it a moment more, before turning and mounting the bank again. As we fell into step side by side, moving like shadows through the trees, I felt everything fall into place. An unintentional smile grew on my lips; I saw a similar one growing on hers. Eventually, perhaps, we would cross—but not until we were ready. So much was still between us, so much that had to be said, had to be worked out. So much that had happened, so much anger and hurt and betrayal.

For now, we were both content to wander through that lonesome place, alone together, floating as shades betwixt the mighty trunks, surrounded by the perpetual snow that never seemed to really make one cold.

When she leaned her head against me, I could feel the curls press against my cheek—my true cheek, for in that place, there was no need for masks. I breathed a sigh of contentment, and she echoed it.

_Je t'aime, Christine._

_Je t'aime, mon ange. _

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her hand rise. There, in a little path of earth protected from the snow by thorn-bushes, was a flower. We stepped from the path and moved closer to it to inspect, and found to our surprise that it was a single, flawless red rose, still in bud form.

I bent, fingers reaching out to lift two of the objects that littered the ground around it. I straightened, and held them out in the palm of my hand. One was a white rose petal; the other, the wing of a nightingale. Christine smiled, and reached out to press her hand, palm down, against mine. As we covered those two objects gently, and pressed them one against the other and into our own hands, the red rose burst forth into immaculate bloom. Tears began rolling off our cheeks, sparkling like diamonds and gliding to the ground like falling stars.

And thus began our eternity.


End file.
